


City Of Blinding Lights

by wordsareleftbehind (froggydarren)



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1326223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/pseuds/wordsareleftbehind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are places that Darren calls home, places that he knows Chris calls home. Some are the same, some belong to only one of them. And then there's New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	City Of Blinding Lights

It’s New York. They both felt it before, they talked about it and planned for the future, listing possibilities one after another. LA, San Fran, Paris, London, _Dublin_. Places that are important to them, places that have everything they both need, places that _mean_ something. And each time, it’s New York that emerges halfway through the conversation and lingers around, no matter what else they try to convince each other is likely, convenient or good.

Darren’s a San Fran kid. He’ll always be a San Fran kid, no matter where he settles. It’ll always tug at the edges of his mind, the freedom, the atmosphere, the scent of _art_ in the air. But somehow, despite his laid-back nature, he needs fast and noisy just as much as he needs the leisurely pace that he tends to fall into at home. Thinking back, he now understands why his Mom told him that he’s too big for that city. Because it’s not being too big in the physical sense, he can’t fool anyone by talking about size when one of his favorite lines says that he’s tiny as fuck and will fit anywhere. He’s too fast, too rushed, too eager to get to places, feeling too much of an urge to get to things.

When he’s in New York, he wants and tries to cram as much as possible into the free time that he has. He wants to see all the plays, visit all the places, then sing all night at Marie’s while playing for everyone and letting others shine. It’s easy to fall into the pace of the city, to slip between commuters and business people rushing from one train to another, jump into the street the second a light turns green, flag down a cab for a few blocks before he decides that walking will get him where he wants to faster. The speed of the day is always something he doesn’t know he’s craved until it’s there, buzzing low under his skin, making him go, go, _go_.

It’s better at times, too, when he’s rushing around with the knowledge that Chris is out there doing the same. When he’s aware of just how much the city fits both of them, how Chris revels in the anonymity of the crowds, the rush of the traffic, the way everything is urgent and fast. He’d be happy enough to just watch Chris flit from one meeting to another, from one side of the city to the other, but the pace tugs on Darren, too, pulls them both in until they’re breathlessly happy.

And then, at night, when nothing really _slows down_ , but still mellows, when the city is still wide awake around them, Darren breathes. He takes in the lights, the rushing cars, the slightly thinned but just as energetic crowds, the steady thrumming of Chris’ heart in his chest as Darren leans against it. The city doesn’t sleep and neither do they, the lights streaming into their window, the keyboard clicking under Chris’ fingers as fast as the guitar strings vibrate under Darren’s. New York doesn’t wait for them to figure things out, but New York also doesn’t care enough to put them under a microscope until they do. They can take their time, because the urgency of _everything_ lets them put the puzzle pieces together at their own pace.

They don’t stop here, don’t dwell on what could go wrong, don’t think about who’s waiting on them. They _are_. Just are what they want to be and need to be. They’re Chris and Darren, they’re writer and artist, they’re steady and fast, they’re flying and running. They go to shows alone and then to bars together, places where no one cares for their baggage and no one aims to add more to it, they walk through places with memories and create new ones. They kiss behind closed doors and make love with the curtains open and lights flickering behind the glass. They’re _home_.

It’s in New York that Darren feels like he doesn’t have to guard himself as much as he’s trained himself to. There’s no need to pay attention to the prickling feeling under his skin, to the constant vigilance and awareness of eyes on him. Because here, less people do so unless he deliberately puts himself into the spotlight and in the way of the lenses. It’s here that he doesn’t jerk away when his hand seeks out Chris’, when their eyes meet even across a crowd of people.

The feeling of freedom seeps into interactions behind closed doors, too. He knows that elsewhere, he’s guarded, always aware of the chance that the phone will ring, that someone will have seen his car in places it shouldn’t be, that someone will _see_ and someone will _know_. And Chris, always careful and on alert Chris, is the same as Darren here, the walls lower and not as impenetrable. Darren loves watching the change, seeing the differences of how Chris lets go of the voices at the back of his mind, how he sinks into the pillows and becomes pliant under Darren’s fingers. The city continues going behind the glass of the window here, buzzing enough that they’re both aware of it, but in a tone that doesn’t distract them.

New York is where they let go entirely, where kisses become leisurely and yet fiery and urgent, in sync with the pace left over from their rush before night falls. It’s where Darren is _just Darren_ and Chris is heart and sensation and fingerprints on the skin and they’re breathing each other in like they’re getting to know each other again. It’s where layers come off easily, the fabric ones and the ones they’ve built from concrete around themselves.

It’s where they always end up uncovered, exposed, wrapped around each other, watching the city’s lights pulse beyond the window and soaking in the feeling of being safe. A siren’s song that beats steadily, asking them to stay, to never leave, promising that here they can have it all.


End file.
